


How to Stop a Psycho in 5 (Not So) Easy Steps

by alorarose, snarkasaurus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, spoilers for season six of charmed, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alorarose/pseuds/alorarose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/pseuds/snarkasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen years is a long time to get revenge, but that's not exactly what Stiles has come back for. No, his goal is simultaneously more complex and far more simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plan A:  Do Drunks Bleed Alcohol?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist without a tumblr post (http://affectingly.tumblr.com/post/31319132860) that posted Karl Urban as a relative of Stiles'. And then our friends really liked the idea, and pushed for it, so this wouldn't exist without them, especially Tash and Noelle, and the rest of the Enablers. 
> 
> Spoilers for the entire season 6 of Charmed. >_>
> 
> PLEASE!! If you think we missed a warning, let us know!! No warnings have been left off with intent to harm, only ignorance. If you feel a warning should be on here that isn't already, contact us, and we'll fix it!

He kept to the shadows, not wanting anyone to see him, but more importantly, he kept down wind. He didn't want anyone to _smell_ him. This place felt out of a dream, a dream he'd had long ago and could barely remember. Except for the part where he remembered every detail. Memory was strange like that. Some memories were clear as day while others faded. But he was only partially here to reminisce about the past. He had a mission. He liked the thought of that. Like the thought of having a direction to strive toward. A direction that would, hopefully, change _everything_. But only if he did it right and only if he could actually pull it off. There was no turning back. Even if he could, there was nothing to turn back to.

He was thankful for the cover of night because shadow lurking would have been more difficult in the daytime. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his well worn leather jacket and fingered the change in there as he made his way down the street. Some of the buildings were still the same, and others had changed completely. It had been _so_ long.

A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks and he hesitated just before the corner of the street and poked his head around the side of the building. That's when he saw them and his heart burned with anger. Scott McCall. The hands in his pockets balled up into fists and he screamed at himself to get it under control. Getting angry wouldn't help him here. If anything, it'd only raise his heart beat so Scott would notice him there. That would ruin everything, well, _mostly_ everything. 

He disappeared into the shadows again. He had work to do.

~*~*~

“SCOTT!” Stiles yelled, ducking under the swiping claws of an Omega that had wandered into their pack territory. “WOULD YOU PLEASE DO WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO?!”

Scott snarled and lunged forward to loop a rope around the wolf and yank. It was a lasso, really, with the loop infused with mountain ash to contain whatever inside of it. His pull tightened the loop around the omega, and knocked him onto his ass. Scott snarled as the omega growled and struggled, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Great, a pissing contest.” Stiles examined the wolf now snarling on the ground. “Do you even realize you wound up in another pack’s territory?” All he got was a spitting snarl in response. “Nice. Very polite.” He pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. “Derek, we’ve got a problem...” 

“Yeah, we do. I’m looking at a dead body that’s been mauled,” Derek’s voice said through the phone speaker. 

Stiles groaned and covered his eyes. “Well, conveniently, we have an omega in front of us.” 

There was silence for a moment. “Where are you?” Derek finally asked. 

“About a mile from...” and Stiles gave their approximate location, which turned out to be just a quarter mile from where Derek was. “Well, that’s convenient,” he said. “You want us to meet you there?”

Derek grunted. “Yeah. Bring your prize.” Stiles could hear the pride in his voice at what they managed to accomplish. Derek was doing a lot better in expressing those things, these days, though still in nonverbal ways. 

It didn’t take them long to drag the omega to where Derek was. It helped that the man was thin and exhausted, clearly at the edge of his reserves. He didn’t have the energy to fight against Scott’s strength. 

"Dude!" Stiles frowned deeply at how close Derek was standing to the body. "You are contaminating a crime scene! Do you know what my dad's going to think if he finds _your_ shoe prints all around the dead guy? Not gonna look good, Derek."

Derek's eyes tore away from the body to look at the three of them and Stiles couldn't spot the hint of amusement that normally glinted behind Derek's glares when Stiles said something ridiculous. Of course it was night, which made it that much harder to spot said glint. 

"The smell is wrong," Derek said after staring at the omega. He took a step closer to them, Stiles assumed to get a better wolf whiff, or whatever it was called. Derek looked almost disappointed. "He has the smell of blood on him, but it's not our dead guy. Something else did this."

"Something else animal or something else werewolf?" Scott asked. 

"The claw marks look strange," Derek looked over his shoulder at the man laying on the ground. "If it's wolf, it's not _this_ wolf," he pointed to the omega. 

Stiles rolled his shoulders. Why couldn't this just be an open shut case? He stepped around Derek to crouch next to the body. He ignored Scott’s snarky, “And you were worried about Derek contaminating the scene?” He thought he recognized this man. From the smell of him, he was a drunk. He didn't need wolf senses to tell that. He must have seen him around town; Beacon Hills wasn't that large.

His head tilted to the side as he looked at the claw marks on the man's clothes. They were narrow, almost needle like. "Derek..."

"What is it?" Derek came up beside him, and Stiles could hear Scott moving, too, presumably to see what they were looking at. 

"The marks," he was afraid to speak loudly, almost as if someone else could hear him. "They look like cat claws."

Derek's eyebrows raised and he looked from Stiles back to the body.

"Wait," Scott spoke up, his tone full of confusion. "You mean it really _was_ a mountain lion?"

Stiles resisted the urge to facepalm. “It was probably a big cat. That’s about all we can say. It’s possible it was a mountain lion.” That didn’t feel quite right to Stiles, though, and he wasn’t sure why. Probably because nothing was ever the way it seemed. 

Derek sniffed, frowning. “It...it smells almost familiar,” he said, sounding confused, and pissed off about being confused. “LIke...Like I should know it, but it isn’t right, so I can’t place it.”

Scott crept closer and sniffed, and then sneezed. He was at least aware enough to sneeze into his hand, and away from the body. “Too close to Stiles, I can only smell him and the cat.” 

Derek frowned harder. 

"Is my smell that strong?" Stiles sniffed himself. "I've only been here like four seconds. Why would you only smell me?"

"I don't know," Scott shrugged. "I've been standing next to you for two hours. Your smell lingers?"

"How did we get on this topic?" Stiles frowned. "There's a dead guy on the ground and we're talking about how strong my smell is? We're getting off track."

Derek huffed a sigh. “I don’t think we can do anything else here,” he said reluctantly. “Time to get out of here and call your father.” 

Stiles nodded. “All right. Except not me this time. Or you, Derek. He’s tolerant of what we’re doing these days, but I think he’s a little sick of us at this point.” 

Scott rolled his eyes. “All right, I’ll call him. Let’s get this freak out of here and let Sheriff Stilinski... do whatever it is he does."

~*~*~

He looked at his watch for the hundredth time in the last hour. It had been two hours and he was still standing here. It didn't work. It didn't fucking work. He had to go to plan B, and if that didn't work then plans C, D, and E. There was a never ending list of contingency plans. He realized this was going to take a lot more time than he initially thought. He looked around the woods, closing his eyes and breathing in the smells that were so familiar to him. He could do this, he could figure this out. He'd spent so much time planning, but none of that could have prepared him for what came with plan B.

His eyes snapped open when he heard movement behind him and he froze, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the sound. Whoever it was, they were just standing there. Stupid wolves. Always too slow. He spun around, pulling the gun he had holstered under his arm as he completed the semicircle. 

His gun hand was steady as he looked at Derek Hale through the sight guide. A plethora of emotions passed through him, all hidden behind a face long trained in stoicism. Hatred, heartache, loneliness, regret, back to hatred. The anger swelled inside of him, and it would have been so easy to pull the trigger. 

They stared at each other, neither one of them moving, neither one of them blinking, and it was beginning to be too much for him. His eyes narrowed when Derek's eyebrows raised.

"Well?" Derek shrugged, a simple rising of his shoulders. He'd seen it so many times before. Such a small gesture that held so much meaning. "Do we want to stand here all night or are you going to shoot me?" Derek's tone held a hint of boredom but he knew that was all an act. He knew Derek used indifference and glares to hide what he was really feeling. 

He eased up on the trigger, regret washing through him and masking all the other emotions. Regret for everything that had gone wrong, for all the things that were left unsaid. "I don't want to shoot you." He was surprised how steady his voice sounded. 

"Could have fooled me," Derek's eyes flicked to the gun before returning to meet his eyes. 

He didn’t lower it, not yet. “Not wanting to shoot you and being willing to are two different things,” he pointed out. 

Derek’s face didn’t change. “Now you sound like the Stiles I know.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m really not.” He studied Derek, looking for any of the familiar tells. It was painful in a way he didn’t expect, mixed in with the regret and the anger that was still simmering under the surface. Derek had been gone for awhile now, so most of that pain was gone...except that, somehow, seeing Derek standing here, young, healthy, _alive_ was like that day all over again. 

“No, you aren’t. You’re not even human anymore, are you?” Derek’s eyes raked over this older Stiles’ body. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. There was none of the shock or surprise he would have expected, not even hidden behind the mask and only visible if you knew where to look for it. There was nothing. “How did you figure out that I was here?” 

Derek didn’t answer that question right away. “It was you that killed him. That drunk.” 

“Yes.” There was absolutely no regret in the response because Stiles didn’t feel any. 

“Why? When did you become a murderer?” 

Stiles snarled silently, the feline response escaping him before he could stop it. “The same time you were taken from me.” 

Derek’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Taken from you.”

“You’re dead, Derek,” Stiles said flatly. “Murdered.”

There it was, a hint of something behind Derek's eyes. Stiles had already said too much, but he had to do whatever he had to to make sure plan B would work. He at least took comfort in the fact that Derek wouldn't ask further about it. He was here to fix things, not screw them up more. 

"Why are you still pointing a gun at me?" Derek's voice didn't betray the hint of whatever it was Stiles had seen in his eyes. 

"Don't take offense," Stiles shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug. "I point my gun at everyone. It's kind of like a less messy security blanket. Also? I think it makes me look cool."

Derek smirked a bit at that. “Keep thinking that,” he said, and it was so easy, so very _Derek_ that it took Stiles’ breath away. Not a flicker of it showed on his face, though. He’d spent too long hiding everything from everyone--especially Derek.

"Why, you don't think so?" Stiles smirked himself. He slowly lowered his gun; it didn't mean he was any less on alert, any less cautious. He was an outlier variable tossed into a place he shouldn't be, and he didn't want to think about this turning out like the movie _The Butterfly Effect_. He holstered his gun, and resisted the urge to look down and see what plants he might be stepping on. 

"If you want to project the murderer thug image, sure," Derek nodded at him.

"I do what I have to," Stiles voice was low. The anger was still there, too close and easy. He wouldn't let it take him. He'd had control over his anger for more years than he can count on both hands, and he wouldn't let seeing Derek again cause him to digress. He wouldn't let this turn into a shouting match even though all he wanted to do was yell. Yell, scream, vent everything he'd bottled up since he'd lost everyone. 

"And killing that drunk was something you _had_ to do?" Derek's eyebrows raised, projecting curiosity, but all Stiles could think was that the alpha wolf was judging him.

"Yes," Stiles nodded, pointing in the direction he'd left the body. "That man was a murderer. He needed to die. I don't expect you to see that. What I do want to know," he shifted the way he was standing, moving his weight onto one hip instead of the solid stance he had been holding, "is what you're planning on doing about it."

Derek arched an eyebrow. “Am I suppose to do something? I’m more worried about the fact that my Stiles’ future self murdered someone, and there’s now potentially DNA evidence that is going to fuck with my pack.” 

Stiles stared at him. “Do you think I’m stupid and incompetent enough to leave traces that could cause problems?” A flare of anger he almost couldn’t master surged through him at the audacity of this _wolf_. 

“I don’t know what you are,” Derek pointed out. “You smell like death. You’re a cat. And you’re here from the fucking future. What am I suppose to think?” 

"Death," Stiles scoffed. "Do you know what they call a group of wild cats, Derek? A Destruction. I didn't know that, I had to look it up. There's a gaggle of geese, a pack of wolves, a herd of elephants. Hell there's even a prickle of porcupines. Lions have a pride, leopards a leap, and tigers a streak but panthers? Nothing. They're loners. I didn't fully understand what was stolen away from me until I truly lost everything. So death? Maybe. Death and destruction do seem to go hand in hand."

"Are you trying to elicit sympathy? Pity?" Derek put his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"From you? I'm not trying to elicit anything," Stiles shook his head. "Though wolves are particularly easy to manipulate. I'm sorry," he sighed finally breaking eye contact with Derek and looking off to the side. "Something about you just makes the filter between my brain and my mouth disappear."

“Wait, you mean you have one?” Derek sounded legitimately surprised. 

“Asshole.” There was no heat this time, because as rusty as it was, as weird as this was, this was familiar. He could remember sparring with Derek, enjoying it, reveling in it. 

Derek shrugged, but there was a flash of something in his eyes. “You asked me how I knew it was you. It was your scent. Scott said he couldn’t smell anything but Stiles and death. Even Scott should have been able to scent something else, but he couldn’t. And neither could I. Because there was nothing else to scent. It took me a little longer to put it together. Longer than it should have.” He studied Stiles’ face. Stiles had no idea what he was looking for, but wondered what he found. “So what the hell are you doing here, Stiles?” 

"You ever watch that show _Charmed_? What am I saying," Stiles shook his head. "Of course you haven't. You're like allergic to television. Anyway. They had this season plot arc where a character goes back to the past because he has to prevent his brother from turning evil. My mission's kinda like that, ‘cept where Chris _didn't_ know what turned his brother evil, I _do_ know what I need to prevent from happening." He licked his lips, watching Derek carefully for any hint of what he was thinking. "But I came back too far," he said softly. "Plan A turned into Plan A-1. But it didn't work."

Derek blinked at Stiles for a moment. “You’re at least fifteen years older, probably closer to twenty, and you still make no sense at times,” he finally said. “Except...okay, so I’m guessing that drunken dead guy kills someone in the future, since you said he was a murderer. Who does he kill?”

Stiles hesitated. He didn't want to mess with more of the timeline than he had to. He didn't want Derek to see threats where there weren't any yet, but he needed help. Plan B involved asking for help, for Derek's help specifically. "Allison," it had been way too many years since he'd said that name out loud. "He kills Allison."

Stiles could tell by the look on Derek’s face that he’d jumped to the right conclusion. “Scott,” Derek breathed. “Fuck. That’s...fuck.” He looked unnerved, a crack in the armor that Stiles never thought he’d see again. Or see, period. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Scott. We figured out that we have to stop Allison’s death and Scott’s swan dive off Insanity Cliff. We just don’t know how.” He hesitated, not sure if he was waiting for a bolt of lightning or something else. This was uncharted territory--not to make a tasteless joke or anything--and he just didn’t know what the fuck was going to work. 

“So how?” Derek asked. “Killing the guy didn’t work you said, so there’s other factors. What else?”

"Plan B," Stiles nodded. He had no idea how he was going to pull this off, especially with keeping his role in it minimal but... "Allison is Scott's anchor. He needs a new anchor."


	2. Plan B: Get Scott to Stop Being a Stubborn Asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes on chapter 1

Derek looked at the three wolves sitting on the couch. Jackson and Scott sitting at opposite ends and Isaac sitting between them like some sort of mediator. Even after all this time Scott and Jackson still butted heads and it was never pretty. 

He realized he was staring at Scott when the other opened his mouth and asked him what his problem was. He shook his head to pull himself back into focus.

"What did you want to talk to us about, Derek?" Isaac asked. He was sitting on the edge of the cushion, bouncing with anxious curiosity. 

"I know this might feel out of the blue, but I wanted to talk to you guys about your anchors--"

"I thought we'd gone over this already," Jackson interrupted Derek and rolled his eyes. “

"We did," Derek nodded, keeping the glare he wanted to give Jackson to a minimum. "But the three of you, your anchors are other _people_ and eventually that is going to lead to problems down the road."

"What kind of problems?" Scott asked, and the expression on his face was confusion mixed with curiosity. Derek marvelled at how easy it was to read the emotions of these three. They were all plain on their faces, in their body language. 

"People move apart," Derek started to explain. He didn't want to lay this too heavily but he hoped this would ring strongly enough with them. "Your anchor should be something that's steady within you. An emotion, something you can replicate and call on whenever you need it."

“So why the hell didn’t you tell us this before?” Scott said, glaring at him. “We’ve all been using people as anchors for a while now.” 

Derek kind of wanted to hit Scott over the head, but since that was the natural state of things, he had no problem ignoring it, yet again. “Because I didn’t think about it then,” he said. “It was pointed out to me, though, how fleeting people can be...even those that are already gone.” 

Isaac frowned. “Why? Why do I...”

“Memory fades,” Derek said as gently as he knew how, which admittedly wasn’t that gentle, but it was all he could muster. “You need something solid, something within you.” 

“Like your anger?” Scott asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking frustrated. 

Derek grit his teeth. “Like my anger.” 

"But I don't _want_ something like anger to be my anchor," Scott stated. "My problem is when I _get_ angry."

"You don't need to use anger," Derek pointed out. "You can use anything."

Derek was amazed that he could see Scott's brain working as he stared at him. He could be difficult at times but Derek couldn't imagine Scott being "evil" as Stiles had put it. 

"What about love?" Scott asked, his face lighting up as the idea came to him. 

"Seriously?" Jackson rolled his eyes. "I didn't choose my anchor, Derek. It just happened," he stood up. "I'm not going to mess with something that works. I'll cross the drifting bridge when and if it happens.

Derek let him go. Jackson wasn't his focus right now, it was Scott. And if it was just going to be a matter of making sure Scott felt loved in order to control himself, then he was sure _now_ Stiles would be more than willing to help with that. "As long as it isn't specifically love for _Allison_ yeah," Derek nodded.

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?” But before Derek could say anything, he got a thoughtful look on his face. “Wait...so, like. Family love? My mom, like...love from Mom, l love my mom, that kind of thing?” 

Derek nodded, careful to keep his relief off his face. It would ruin things if Scott caught on. “Your love for your mom, for Stiles...even for...” he hesitated to say pack. He knew how Scott felt about the pack, and he certainly wouldn’t classify it as love. 

"Once we find something," Isaac's voice was hesitant in asking. "How will we know it works? I mean.. instead of the things we currently use."

"You won't immediately know," Derek shook his head. "Think of it more like a backup. The more things you have to focus on, the less likely you'll be to lose control. It's an extra support beam."

Isaac nodded, understanding in his eyes. To Derek, it seemed like Isaac was relieved that he didn't have to abandon the memory he was clinging to. He couldn't blame him. Even Derek had memories he clung to, no matter how faded they were.

~*~*~

Derek came up behind Stiles, making sure he moved slowly. He didn't know how this man would react to being sneaked up on. If someone could even sneak up on a cat, Derek didn't know. He didn't know much about werepanthers. They were in a patch of woods that had a full view of the police station and Derek didn't have to think long on what Stiles would be doing here. 

"What good is it having power if you can't protect the people you love, Derek?" Stiles asked without turning around. Well, that answered _that_ question. 

"You're asking the wrong person," Derek shook his head. "What happened?"

"Collateral damage, they called it," Stiles turned to look at Derek. "I didn't make it there in time."

Derek frowned a little. “For whom?” he asked slowly. He couldn’t mean Allison, obviously, and he suspected the Sheriff, but there was something in Stiles’ eyes, his tone...this man, this Stiles was very good at hiding his emotions from Derek, on a level that he didn’t really want to think about, but at the same time.... 

"Did you talk to Scott?" Stiles changed the subject, walking past Derek to get further under the cover of the trees. Derek watched him go, wondering if the fact that this man kept turning his back to him meant something more than he was making of it.

"Why are you changing the subject?" Derek asked, turning where he stood but not following. 

"Because I thought the answer was clear," Stiles replied over his shoulder. "Do you really want to know about a future I'm trying to prevent?"

Derek sighed. “I’m trying to figure you out,” he said in an uncharacteristic bout of honesty. “And the answer was clear in the sense I could guess who you were talking about, but it seemed like there was something you weren’t saying.” 

Stiles turned fully to face him. “Why do you want to figure me out?” he asked, his eyebrow slightly cocked. 

“Because you’re not at all like I would expect you to be,” Derek admitted. 

Stiles laughed and the sound came so suddenly that it caught Derek off guard. The sound held a bitter edge to it and even a hint of mocking. 

"People change, Derek," Stiles took slow steps toward him to close the distance. "I ask again," his eyes were searching Derek's face. "Did you talk to Scott?"

Derek took a slow breath, gritting his teeth together as he reminded himself that there were indeed more important things at the moment. "Yes, I did."

"And?" Stiles looked at him expectantly.

"And he seemed to get it," Derek relaxed slightly, his annoyance dissipating in the face trying to help Scott. "He already had some ideas." He watched Stiles check his watch and wondered why nothing this man was wearing gave away the fact that he was from the future. Even the watch was a simple one with a normal clock face. 

"How long ago was that?" Stiles asked.

"Why does it matter?" Derek watched Stiles adjust the hands on the watch. From what he could see it wasn't even telling the right time. So much for the future of watches.

"Because," Stiles looked up and Derek tilted his head curiously at how annoyed Stiles became, "if it works, then within two hours you'll get me out of your precious gel crusted hair."

Derek glared at him. “Then we’re screwed because I talked to them three hours ago.”

Stiles' hands dropped away from his watch and his eyes closed. Knowing what he knew about Stiles, at least the _present_ Stiles, Derek was able to imagine what must be going through the other's head right now. Especially as it appeared he was struggling to maintain some sort of control. 

Stiles opened his eyes and though his shoulders had relaxed, his eyes were glowing green. "It's tempting to skip to plan Z and just kill that asshole," his voice was slow and partnered with a low growl coming from somewhere in his throat.

Derek didn’t even have to ask which one Stiles meant, though to see the glowing green eyes, somehow hauntingly beautiful in a way he’d never seen a were’s eyes be before, was a level of _holyshitwerepanther_ that the scent change of Stiles Stilinski hadn’t hit. “Let’s hold off on plan Z just yet,” he said. “You said you overshot it by 5 years, right? We’ve got some time to come up with other plans, plus it’s possible something just hasn’t worked yet.”

He could see Stiles visibly working to control himself. It was supremely bizarre to be the position of the logical person, the voice of reason, while _Stiles_ was the one that had to work to control himself. What kind of world did the man come from?

“All right,” Stiles said and the growl in his voice fissioned up Derek’s spine. It wasn’t an altogether pleasant feeling. It triggered the urge to fight and also the urge to run. He had to fight both to not move at all. He could tell that Stiles sensed the struggle in him by the brief flare in his eyes. It was disconcerting. 

“Do you have any other plans yet?” Derek asked. He wondered how many Stiles had, and if Plan Z was a real plan or Stiles just meant it as a reference to the last resort. 

“Plenty,” Stiles said after a long moment. “Each worse than the last.” 

"So what's Plan C?" Derek asked.

"To try and not cause the space time continuum to implode."

Derek wished he hadn't asked.


	3. Plan C:  We Are Not Fucking With Your Head, Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes on Chapter 1

"You.. have _got_ to be kidding me," Stiles rolled his eyes at the man, who looked way too comfortable in that leather jacket and black jeans, standing in the doorway. "Derek, you believe this guy? He could be telling you _anything_ just to get in the door? How do you know he's really me and not some threat hiding under a spell?"

“Because I can smell it,” Derek gritted out. “I can smell that he’s _you_.”

"Then prove it," Stiles glared at this stranger. "Make me believe your bullshit. Surely if you're me then you thought up a way to convince yourself, right?"

The man looked off to the side, his lips curling in a smirk. "That's the problem," the man looked back at Stiles and _god_ that was _creepy_. "Every single thing I tried to come up with I found ways to debunk. Found things I knew I'd call bullshit on. Knew _you'd _call bullshit on. So I ask you this, _Stiles_ ," he pointed at him. "Why would _anyone_ who wanted to infiltrate this pack, make up a story about saving _Scott_ of all things?"__

__Stiles shut his mouth, not having an answer for that. "It's always about Scott," he mumbled. He'd been on edge ever since Derek had come into the room with this man and listening to their initial explanation didn't do anything to ease the tension. But he was right. Anything he could think of right now to say to himself to prove who he was he could call shenanigans on. The more he thought about it, the more he agreed that pointing out the mission objective would have worked better. "What does he do?"_ _

__"Scott?" the man's eyebrows raised. "You don't want to know."_ _

__"Okay then, self," Stiles was practically bouncing with nervous energy. "What makes you think the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle isn't coming into play here? How do you know you are not causing all this shit to hit the fan?"_ _

__It was time for the older Stiles to look at a loss for words and he felt a jolt of triumph in basically besting... well... himself apparently. Suddenly it didn't feel as cool._ _

__Finally he spoke. "Because the dead man in the woods? He can't be drunk driving 7 years from now if he's _dead_ now can he."_ _

__"Drunk driving? What does that have to do with anything?" Stiles' arms flailed then his eyes narrowed when the older Stiles gave a sideways glance to Derek. "So Derek gets to know and I don't?"_ _

__Derek rolled his eyes. “Stiles, seriously? Come on, why do you think we’re here?” He gave the adult Stiles a look that said, “Dude, c’mon, tell him, what the fuck?”_ _

__"Hesitate for one second and suddenly everyone's all over you," he rolled his eyes and walked further into the room, settling down on the couch. He spread his arm out on the armrest and his legs out in front of him. "I'd forgotten how comfortable this couch was."_ _

__Stiles sat on the arm of the chair positioned across from the couch, his leg bouncing to give the buzz of energy inside of him an outlet._ _

__"In about 7 years Allison is going to die," the older Stiles crossed his legs, his ankle resting on the opposite knee. "and Scott's going to go Anakin Skywalker. Except well, he'll still have his arms and legs."_ _

__"I assume you've figured out how to stop it then?" Stiles said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."_ _

__"I had a plan, then a bunch of contingency plans," he nodded slowly. "We're on Plan C."_ _

__"Plan C!?" Stiles shot up, arms flailing. "What the hell were Plans A and B?"_ _

__"Plan A was kill the drunk," he held up his hand and folded over his index finger._ _

__"You _what_?!" Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. He killed someone and was talking as if it was a laundry list. " _Derek_!"_ _

__“You’re the one who noticed the claw marks,” Derek pointed out, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop for his Stiles. “The options are...not worth considering.”_ _

__Stiles flailed a little harder. “So what the hell is Plan C?”_ _

__Derek stared at him._ _

__“...oh. Me? I’m Plan C?”_ _

__"Yeah," the older him looked up at him. "You're Plan C. I hate Plan C."_ _

__"Oh really? Out of all your plans this one is the one you hate? Not the one where you _killed_ someone?"_ _

__"If they deserve to die, why does it matter?" Stiles was baffled by the expression on this man's face._ _

__"Because that's not your call to make? I don't know!"_ _

__"We're getting off track. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to. I'm hoping that telling you the things to look out for will push things in a... better direction."_ _

__Derek growled at them. “Stiles. And...Stiles. Enough, seriously, can’t you two just...” he gestured vaguely. “Get along?” Then he paused. “That’s awkward.”_ _

__"Let me make it less awkward. I haven't gone by Stiles in _years_. I go by Gus now."_ _

__"Gus?" Stiles made a face. "Seriously?"_ _

__"I had no choice," he growled. "And I didn't pick it. It was forced on me and it stuck."_ _

__"Who would force _that_ name on you and why? I mean. What’s so special about Gus?”_ _

__"It’s short for...well. It’s short for a Greek word that means emerald. Because of these," Stiles nearly jumped when 'Gus's' eyes glowed green._ _

__"Holy _shit_!" he took a step backwards and fell into the armchair. "What the hell!" He looked at Derek, taking in his smug expression and glared. "You knew. Why didn't you tell me?" he accused._ _

__Derek snickered. “Why would I? More fun to watch you react.”_ _

__"I hate you," Stiles shook his head. He looked back at the man on the couch, realization hitting him. "The claw marks... You... you're some sort of cat?"_ _

__"Panther," Gus supplied._ _

__"But... _how_...?" Stiles stammered, unsure of things given what he and Derek had discussed only two week's prior._ _

__"I know what you're thinking and yes, you did make your choice, and no, I'm not telling you when."_ _

__"Then what the hell are you here to tell me?" Stiles really wanted to throw something right now. If he'd made his choice then why was his future self a werepanther and not a werewolf?_ _

__Gus adjusted the time on his watch then looked at Stiles. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you're sitting down."_ _


	4. Plan D: No, Wait, No Fucking Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes on Chapter 1

“Here. Take this. Feed him. He’s got to be starving at this point, and he’s going to avoid going into town,”Stiles said, shoving a basket of food at Derek. 

Derek stared at him. “Why are you giving this to me?”

Stiles gave him a _are you stupid?_ look. “Because I know damned well you’re heading to stalk him, so you might as well do something constructive. And check at your old house.”

“...y’know, that’s kind of creepy,” Derek observed, but he didn’t bother denying that he was on his way to stalk Gus. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, well. He’s me. I know where I’d go if I were in that situation. Which I am. It...oh, just go.” 

Derek took the cue and headed out, not even bothering to check anywhere else. He headed straight for his old home, out in the woods, still burnt, still dangerous, but probably the one constant in life for any of the pack. Even one turned werepanther. 

He didn't have to look far, Gus was sitting on the top step of the porch, eyes looking at nothing in the distance. He almost didn't want to bother him. He looked at his watch, it had been well over two hours since they'd spoken to Stiles. He guessed Plan C was a bust too. 

He walked up to the house slowly. He wasn't doing anything to mask his sound or movements but Gus was obviously lost in thought and he didn't want to know what happened when he was startled. Gus' eyes focused in on him when he made it to the bottom step and the two simply looked at each other for a few minutes. Finally Derek climbed the few steps, sitting down and setting the food on the step between them.

"Not hungry," Gus resumed staring out at a spot somewhere in the woods. 

"It's been three days," Derek looked at him. "Have you eaten anything _at all_?"

Gus let out a short annoyed breath and shook his head slightly. "I have more important things to worry about than eating. Three plans down and none of them worked. _None_ of them," he growled. "I don't want to eat, Derek," he turned his head to look at him. "I want to not be here."

“You may not want to, but you need to,” Derek said quietly. “If you collapse from hunger, you’re not going to be able to get done what you need to.” He was still having trouble realizing that he was the voice of reason here. It seemed backwards and wrong. 

Gus snarled silently at him, the expression pure pissed off cat. “I should just kill Scott,” he muttered. “It would solve everything.” 

Derek stared at the leaf strewn ground, trying to reconcile this damaged, harsh man with the Stiles that he knew. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...killing isn’t always the right option.” 

Gus snarled again, standing and tearing off his jacket in one move. He began pacing back and forth in the clearing in front of the house, close enough the conversation would still be easy to carry on. Derek watched him move, noting the feline grace and strength carried easily in the tall and still lanky body. It was mesmerising in a way. 

“Killing has been the answer for almost eighteen years,” he spat, his movements slowly becoming more and more feline. The change was gradual, hardly noticeable, but after several minutes of pacing and halted single phrases about his life, Gus was flexing and unflexing his hands, watching the retraction of his claws. 

“What happened to you?” Derek asked before he could help himself. The question triggered harsh, animalistic laughter, something that had Derek scrambling to his feet, tensing to shift to alpha form, and then he was gone. In his place was a sleek looking cat, more feline than human, but definitely terrified human as he rolled his eyes. “You never could leave shit alone, could you?” Gus asked. 

"From what I can tell, that's a trait that's still afflicting you too," Derek retorted. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here right now, would you."

"Everything I did, I did for that asshole," Gus' head snapped to look at Derek. He kept pacing, his tail flicking in annoyance. "I lost _everything _. Ripped away from me, and I couldn't do a single thing. Couldn't save any one of them," he ran his tongue over one of his fangs. "Yet here I am, 18 years in the past trying to prevent a future where my best friend murders everything I love and all I'm doing is fucking up."__

__"You said you had a never ending list of plans," Derek pointed out and there it was again, him bringing the logic. "We'll just go to plan D. What's plan D, Gus?"_ _

__"No time for plan D," Gus shook his head._ _

__"What do you mean, no time?" Derek took the steps slowly and cautiously. He wanted to stay far out of the swiping range of Gus' claws. "You said Allison doesn't die for _years_ yet."_ _

__"Scott's birthday is in a week," Gus stopped pacing and it made Derek halt his slow descent._ _

__"What's so important about Scott's birthday?" Derek asked. "What happens that gives you no time?"_ _

__Gus stretched. It was a long, slow movement that started at his feet and ended with the razor sharp claws extending out of his fingertips. Well, fingers that more resembled paws at the moment. Derek couldn't stop staring, his brain once again comparing and contrasting the Stiles he left not a half hour ago to this one before him. Gus pulled back his shift, reclaiming most of his human features. He kept the claws, kept watching them extend and retract. Derek could smell some of the anger dissipate and wondered if the motion was more to calm him than used as a threat._ _

__"I hate cats, Derek," Gus' still glowing eyes, that seemed to sparkle with flecks of gold, Derek noticed, turned up to look at him and all he saw in them was hatred. "I used to think they were just these cute cuddly things with attitude but wild cats are a million times worse with the attitude. A pack is like a family. Pack animals support each other. With us?" he tapped a claw against his chest. "Power and control."_ _

__"What does that have to do with Scott's birthday?" Derek tried to bring him back in focus._ _

__"Everything," Gus leaned forward, the word laced with a growl. "Saving Allison should have worked! But we must have miscalculated the trigger. It must be something else," Derek watched as the emotions shifted on Gus' face, for the first time being able to see something other than amusement and annoyance. Right now Gus' expression was thoughtful as he tried figuring out where he'd gone wrong. Derek didn't want to see him angry._ _

__Derek chose his words carefully. "How did you arrive at the conclusion that it was Allison? Because it was timed from her death?"_ _

__Gus nodded shortly. "It was the only common denominator we could find, why?"_ _

__"Well," and now Derek had to be even more careful. He was far too aware of the tenuous hold Stiles had in himself at this point, punctuated by those deadly claws rhythmically flexing just a few feet away. "Knowing Scott as I do, could it maybe have been a series of things?"_ _

__Gus's eyes narrowed, and Derek tensed before he realized that it was in thought, not anger. "You mean...Allison's death only appeared to be the trigger or was the last in a series of triggers?"_ _

__"It's possible, right?" and them he had another thought, one that made him sit straight up, which startled Gus and made his eyes flash green. Derek grimaced at the hiss of annoyance. "Sorry. What if...what if you weren't sent back too far? You said that you are 5 years earlier than you planned to be, but what if you were sent to where you needed to be?"_ _

__Gus was up and pacing again. Derek noticed his tail was back, lashing angrily. "If that's the case, then I..."_ _

__"Then you what?"_ _

__"Then I'm going to need your help. Both of me."_ _


	5. Plan E: Get STILES to Stop Being a Stubborn Asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes on Chapter 1

Gus pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to tune out everything Stiles was ranting about. In this instant, he hated himself so much. So _fucking_ much. "Let me get this straight," he opened his eyes. "You can't lie to me about this cause I know _exactly_ what you and Derek talked about 2 weeks ago, because _I_ talked to Derek about this. You, Stiles, made the decision to take the bite. You said you were ready. He," Gus pointed at Derek without looking at him, "said to wait until your 18th birthday and you _reluctantly_ agreed. Would you like me to spell reluctantly, Stiles?" he waited for a headshake. "So _why_ , in the name of _everything_ that is good and holy to the Jedi, do you have a problem with taking the bite _now?_ "

Stiles glared at him and Gus never thought the urge to smack himself was stronger than right now. "Because, _self_ , and you should know this, I want the choice to be mine and you coming in here with Plan E--which, what the hell happened to Plan D-- and expecting me to not question anything when even the things you've told me sound completely ridiculous is a little hard to take in. Come clean and I'll agree, otherwise get the hell out," Stiles pointed at the door.

"I am trying to save you from all _this_ ," Gus gestured at himself. "From a life of looking over your shoulder and I don't mean just from enemies. Cats are assholes, Stiles. There's no alpha, it's just constant fighting for territorial dominance. Do you know how hard it is to herd cats?" Gus laughed, a short, loud noise. "You can't. And it's even harder when there's a war. Yeah, Stiles, war. War against your best friend who wants nothing more than to kill everything you love and he does it too. There's no one left. If I fail here, Scott wins the war. He'd love to have his ugly little wolf claws rip out my throat. Is this the life you want? Then by all means, walk out that door. Far be it from me to take away my own free will. Just know someone else is going to do it."

"When did I become such a jerk?" Stiles glared at Gus. He grabbed his keys off the coffee table and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

"What. The. _Hell_ was that?!" Derek growled. "Are you _trying_ to fuck up Plan E?"

"He's already made up his mind. The second I opened my mouth his mind was already made up. We're all screwed," Gus growled right back. "You have no idea how much I hate you, Derek."

Derek stared. “What the fuck? What did I do?”

"Because you said _no_. After all that, after all your bullshit about how you'll give the bite to those who ask for it, you told me to wait. So I waited. And then a pissed off werepanther struts onto the scene and decides to make a point. This is why we have no time, Derek," Gus fought the instinct to start pacing. "The shit is going to hit the fan and it's going to fucking _stink_."

“So you hate me for trying to make sure that it wasn’t just brought on by the fact that _you were nearly killed_ , and you were trying to keep that from happening? I asked you to wait...what, six weeks? Make sure it’s what you really wanted and wasn’t a fucking stress reaction? How the fuck was I suppose to know what a motherfucking werepanther was about to come to town and do shit like this?” Derek snarled at him. 

"The sad thing is?" Gus chuckled bitterly. "I wasn't even the one he wanted. It was Scott. It's always about Scott," he shook his head. "But Scott was already taken and that made him furious. So he took the pawns he knew would sting the most."

Derek frowned. “Who is he? To want Scott and to know who would sting the most? And who was taken?”

"Scott's dad," Gus growled, low in his throat. "I just called him Asshole. He wanted to make a cozy happy little family again. He ended up getting one of those families off of the Jerry Springer Show," he laughed at his own joke. 

The revelation that Scott’s father was a werepanther and was on his way back into town to turn Scott--something that would go very wrong, since Scott wasn’t turnable--visibly halted Derek. Gus took a small, sick pleasure in stunning the werewolf to the point of going white in the face. “So he takes you instead, turns you to get back at Scott? And...me?” He paused at that. “Because he thinks I turned Scott, or is that not even a factor?” 

"He didn't want to hear it when I tried telling him it wasn't you, it was Peter. He gave me the choice and didn't like the answer I gave him," he looked to the side briefly. "Ya know, apparently it's a lot harder to make a werepanther than a werewolf. I'd never felt more pain in my entire life, Derek. All I remember was pain and blood. Not exactly a good start to the next chapter in your life, hmm? But it foretold that the next 18 years would be just that. Pain and Blood."

Derek winced. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Gus could smell how honest he was being. “I guess I should have done it when you asked. I just didn’t want you regretting it later because you’d decided in a moment of weakness and pain.” He looked as sorry as Gus could ever remember him looking. 

"Oh, I'm anything but weak now," he laughed. "I make an awesome werepanther. I killed that son of a bitch. It took me like 10 years to catch up with his strength but _god_ it felt good. 10 years of putting up with his controlling bullshit and suddenly we were free of him. But that's also when Scott got more of a taste for blood."

Derek regarded Gus warily. “Who else did he kill, Gus?” he asked quietly. “Your father? There’s so much anger there...” 

"After he killed you? Yeah, he killed dad. He killed Sable. Hmm," Gus smiled a little at the mention of her name. "Did you know Scott has a sister? Half sister. He kills her too. Then our kits, Grey and Little Ear. Killed them all."

Derek stared at him. “Scott’s sister...your kids...You had children with Scott’s sister, and Scott killed all three of them?” He looked like he was going to be sick. “Me, the Sheriff, your...wife? mate? and your kits...” He shuddered. “I see now why you came back to stop him.” 

"She wasn't my wife," he shook his head. "If we'd married, then she would have been mine, not his, and we weren't allowed anything to call 'ours'. Not even our names," he frowned as he watched Derek. "He also got the rest of the pack. All of them. He gave them a choice to side with him and obviously no one would side with a crazy asshole, so he ripped their throats out." 

Derek closed his eyes, and Gus watched him physically work to keep from throwing up. “All of them?” he finally said, his voice a hoarse croak. “Lydia? Jackson? Boyd, Isaac, Erika? Even Peter?” His face twisted like he didn’t want to hear the answer but felt he absolutely had to. 

"Well," Gus hesitated. "I killed Peter, that was me. But yeah, all of them are dead," some of his anger dissipated as he watched Derek. 

Derek opened his eyes again. “Gus, I’m...I’m sorry. I get it now, why you felt you had to come back, why we have to stop this from happening.” He stopped. “Gus. Why Gus? And what’s with the other names, Sable, Grey, Little Ear...” 

"And White Paw," Gus said softly. "She was the only one I could keep safe. And I told you, Gus is short for the word Emerald comes from. He gave us names that matched physical attributes that he liked the most. My eyes. The colors of Sable’s and Gray's coats. Little had one ear that's bigger than the other, and White Paw, she has a patch of white fur on one of her legs. Names have power, Derek. You take away someone's name and you own them."

“Which...makes sense, if panthers are all about power and control. Who’s White Paw? And what kind of word shortens to Gus? Seriously...” 

Gus growled in annoyance. The two things he'd been trying to avoid. "Smaragdus, Derek," his growl made his chest vibrate. "He forced Smaragdus on me."

The silence was deafening. “Smaragdus,” Derek said flatly. “He named you _Smaragdus?_ ”

"I seriously have no problems ripping your throat out with my teeth, Derek," Gus said just as flatly. "I bet my teeth are sharper than yours."

“I’m sure they are. I wasn’t making fun of you. I think that’s horrific of him and impressive of you. You obviously had to fight to change Smaragdus into Gus. You are one stubborn son of a bitch, and I admire that intensely,” Derek said honestly. 

"Horrific yeah," Gus scoffed. "Let's pontificate more on that after I kill both Scott and his dad... again."

Derek grimaced. “I don’t think that coming back nearly two full decades in order to stop all this happening just to _kill_ Scott is the way to go about it. There’s got to be another way, another trigger we’re not thinking of.” 

"It's all part of Plan F," Gus smiled a toothy grin and looked at his watch. "Save White Paw, save the world. You ready for a hunt, Derek?"

Derek still didn’t know who White Paw was. Gus purposely didn’t confirm the identity, but he could see that Derek was beginning to suspect who it might be. It didn’t appear to matter, though. A rusty emotion, something that might have been pleased satisfaction welled up when Derek’s eyes flashed red, and he grinned back at Gus, his own teeth looking a little sharp. “Show me where,” Derek said. 

Gus looked at the clock on the wall then back at Derek, his own eyes flashing green. That was exactly where Stiles fit in.


	6. Plan F: We’re In an Episode of Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes on chapter 1

Derek crouched at the edge of the forest, growling in his chest. There were intruders in his territory, and they had his pack in there. He could smell Stiles in there, in pain, bleeding, and terrified. There was someone else in there, someone familiar but he couldn’t quite place. 

“What’s the plan,” he whispered, barely breathing the words. He knew Gus would hear him. 

“We hunt,” Gus whispered back, and shifted. It was seamless, and if Derek was honest, it was gorgeous. The form was far more catlike than his own form was wolflike, even allowing for Alpha versus Beta in the forms. Sleek fur over strong muscles, claws wicked and sharp, and those glowing green eyes. 

Derek shifted, too, stretching into the form and slowly stalking closer to the house. He was worried, unsure what they were about to face, but knowing that it had to be done. 

Gus leaped onto the porch, making no sound as he landed. He paced the porch, sniffing at the door and windows before leaping over a broken bannister to land on the ground. Derek kept up with him as they rounded to the back of the back of the house, careful to avoid being in full view of the burnt out holes in the walls. 

Derek's nose wrinkled. They were getting closer to where Stiles was, the scent of blood was getting stronger. He followed Gus through a broken window and froze at the sight of Stiles laying bloodied on the floor. Gus walked right past him, barely giving him a glance as he disappeared into another room and Derek held back a growl. 

Gus glanced back at him, giving him an irritated look, and Derek took the message. Stiles would be okay--had to be okay--and they had something else they had to do. Still, there was so much blood... He paused to nose at Stiles, reassure himself that his. Well. His friend was okay, and then kept moving, following Gus through the house. 

He nearly blew their cover when they got close enough for Derek to truly scent who else was here, and he realized that it was Melissa McCall back there. He’d suspected it. Had guessed that she was White Paw based on Gus’s evasiveness and the fact that the guy was still here. Still, this was... Fuck. Just fuck. 

He paced forward silently, standing next to the crouched Gus, keeping out of the way of the lashing tail. Derek waited, looking for the signal that they were going to run forward, attack, save Melissa from her husband...

Gus was waiting for something, Derek didn't know what, but he knew this threat better than Derek did. Derek knew nothing about Scott's father. Gus shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a back and forth rocking motion that Derek had seen before when cats had been about to pounce. 

A tall, dark haired man walked passed an open doorway and Derek missed the moment Gus pounced forward, the movement faster than his brain could process. Suddenly everything was claws, hissing, and the coppery smell of blood. He wouldn't join in on that fight, he wasn't there for that. Derek was there for Scott's mother. He entered the room, relieved that Mrs. McCall was unharmed, cowering in the corner of the room. One of the cats screamed in pain and Derek couldn't make out which it was. He pulled back his shift, wanting her to know it was him, that he was there to get her out safely and he smiled when she nodded and took his hand. 

Derek didn’t wait for much more than that before he was pulling her to her feet, shielding her with his body, and easing her past the fighting panthers. He wanted to stop and watch, because this was beautiful, in a dark and deadly sort of way, but he had to get Mrs. McCall out of there. He got her out the door, grimacing when there was another scream of pain, and herded out into the hallway, down the steps, and to where Stiles was laying, bleeding. 

“Help him?” he begged her, but she was already falling to her knees, cursing as she looked Stiles over for the source of all the blood. She balled up wads of fabric and tied them tightly onto each wound. She frowned, her muttering getting louder and more desperate as she worked. Derek hovered, torn between watching them and watching the door as the sounds of the fighting slowly grew louder. 

“Time to go,” Derek said as Gus crashed down the stairs and briefly into view before he was on his feet and back up, bounding back toward the other panther, currently not visible. 

“But he--never mind,” Mrs. McCall said, scrambling backwards as a screaming sound filled the air again. Derek scooped Stiles up and backed out of the room, carrying Stiles and keeping Mrs. McCall behind him, eyes locked on the cats fighting. 

“Set him down out here,” she said, once they were off the porch. “By the tree line. I'll keep working on him, you can defend us.” Derek nodded his head and did just that, pacing a few feet away once he’d shifted back to his other form. He kept his eyes on the house, waiting to see what would happen. 

It seemed to take forever. Derek watched the house for any movement, listened for any sound that would let him know what was going on in there. Gus had made him promise that once he got Mrs. McCall out of there that he'd stay out. Derek hated waiting, especially when he didn't know what was happening. He risked a glance at how Mrs. McCall was doing with Stiles, liking that she'd at least managed to stop the bleeding. 

Long after the sounds of fighting had stopped in the house there was still no movement and Derek was beginning to think the worst. He was about to break his promise and rush into the house when Gus appeared on the porch. He took the steps awkwardly, lacking the grace of movement he'd held before. He was limping. Gus simply nodded, answering a question Derek didn't have to voice. The other panther was dead and Gus stank of blood, a mix of his own and what he assumed was Mr. McCall's. 

"He shredded my jacket," Gus pouted and started to shrug his leather coat off his shoulders before grimacing and thinking better of it. "I like this jacket."

"There will be plenty more jackets," Derek tried to assure him. "I'm sure cows aren't extinct." He followed Gus' line of sight to Stiles. "He's in good hands. His pulse is getting stronger."

Gus lifted his wrist to look at his watch and Derek jumped forward to catch him when Gus' knees gave out. "I'm okay," Gus shook his head. "My watch isn't."

"Forget the watch," Derek sat him down carefully, not knowing where his injuries were. There was blood everywhere. 

"Derek, I have two more things to ask of you, please," Derek's nose wrinkled at the smell of death coming off Gus, stronger than it was before. He nodded and watched Gus pull something out of his pocket. It looked like a cellphone. Huh, so cell phones still looked like cell phones. 

"The things I told you, don't tell him," he gestured to Stiles with his head. "Please. Don't tell any of them."

"You don't need to ask me to promise that," Derek's voice was soft. Gus touched his phone and the screen came to life. Derek watched fast fingers move over it then was shown a picture. 

"Sable," Gus whispered. "She'll come looking for him, her dad. Just tell her she's safe now."

“She’s beautiful,” Derek said carefully. “Do you want me to keep her here?” 

Gus didn't answer immediately, Derek could almost see him thinking it over. "The choice is hers," he finally said. "Don't push her, she's... had it tough. But she's Scott's sister," he said the last softly, glancing nervously at Mrs. McCall. "Her mother's dead. No one will come for her."

“Then we’ll give her a space, and let her make her own decision.” He couldn’t help but wonder if their Stiles would fall in love with Sable. “Is that it? Are those the only two things?” He wanted to reassure this hero who had helped them, who was obviously convinced he was dying. Some kind of reassurance or comfort, something that would help... 

"Yeah," Gus nodded and for the first time since he'd met him, Derek saw Gus flash a genuine smile. "Thank you, Derek."

"You're welcome," Derek nodded slowly. He looked over at Mrs. McCall and Stiles, wanting to see how he was doing and he smiled himself. "You know-" he had started to say something but when he looked back at Gus, he was gone. Only empty air stirred next to him, the ground not even looking like someone had been sitting there. 

“Well shit,” Derek said, both relieved and saddened. He had been starting to like Gus, for all his anger and bitterness. It had reminded Derek of himself, if he was honest. He knew the other man couldn’t stay around, not really, but it had been nice to have someone there that could understand. Still, Gus being gone, truly gone, meant that they had fixed whatever would have caused Scott to go insane. He honestly didn’t know if it was a combination of the things that had been tried, or if it was saving Melissa McCall, or--and this one Derek personally found more likely--keeping Stiles from being turned. He just knew it had worked, Gus was gone, and Scott...Stiles was safe. The pack was safe. 

He stood and headed back for Stiles and Mrs. McCall, awkwardly resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “How is he?”

She'd opened her mouth, about to reply when Stiles' eyes opened. His head tilted slightly to look up at Derek. "Well, _now_ are you going to bite me?"

Derek laughed.


End file.
